


My Body Feels Foreign, But Yours Feels Like Home

by EmeraldAshes



Series: Ineffable Husbands Oneshots [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And more hugs, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Cute Ending, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldAshes/pseuds/EmeraldAshes
Summary: The anxiety attacks began roughly two thousand years ago when Aziraphale had realized that he was living a lie. This was the first time anyone had helped him through one, however.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Husbands Oneshots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527989
Comments: 15
Kudos: 263
Collections: Crowley and Aziraphale Fics, Crowley x Aziraphale, Good Omens Fics, The Good Omens Library





	My Body Feels Foreign, But Yours Feels Like Home

In moments like this, Aziraphale was keenly aware of the fact that he was a spiritual being puppeteering flesh. He wanted to shrug out of his skin like a too-tight suit, to stop relying on lungs and oxygen so that he could breathe properly.

Physicality amplified emotions. The mind fed the body. The body fed the mind. And suddenly, a relatively minor setback had him curled up shivering for hours. 

The anxiety attacks began roughly two thousand years ago when Aziraphale had realized that he was living a lie. It was perfectly natural to be anxious while living a lie, so he had thought little of it at the time. He had simply made a point to clear his schedule after any trips upstairs or meetings on Earth with Gabriel.

The angel would panic, he would eventually claw his way back to his usual low-level of anxiety, and then he would continue with his day-to-day life. 

Aziraphale had assumed, incorrectly it seemed, that he would be fine once he was no longer threatened by falling from God’s grace or being burned in hellfire by his former supervisor. Yet here he was, just a few weeks after the averted end of the world, feeling the familiar swell of jumbled thoughts and frustrating physical reactions.

This was not a full-blown panic attack, although the panic was certainly  _ there. _ It was more of a panic...siege. The panic might attack if he let his walls down, but mostly it was staying close and making a lot of noise.

When Aziraphale arrived at the bookshop, he headed straight to the kitchen to make tea. He set the kettle to boil and, unsteady on his feet, sat heavily on a kitchen chair. He watched the kettle, waiting for the whistle to set him into motion.

Crowley came in a few minutes later and stilled upon seeing him. “You alright, angel?”

A twitch of muscle created something like a smile. “Yes, fine.”

Crowley had not precisely moved into the bookshop. He had merely stopped by after the failed Apocalypse and not yet left. He did the same thing, now. He did not settle in with Aziraphale at the kitchen table. Instead, the demon hovered in the doorway. “You, uh, want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, really. I just mistook someone for Gabriel earlier and had a bit of a shock. My body is mildly malfunctioning. It...does that, sometimes.”

Crowley came closer. “Can I help?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I don’t believe anyone’s ever tried.”

“I’ll try some things, then,” Crowley said. “Just tell me if they’re helping.”

“Alright, but forgive me if I’m not terribly articulate.” He pulled his facial muscles into an expression that disappeared too quickly to even mimic a true smile. “Every time I talk, I become very aware of the fact that my tongue is sitting in my mouth. I know it’s  _ always  _ doing that, but the awareness is really quite unpleasant.”

“I could hug you,” Crowley said quickly. “Er,  _ can _ I hug you?”

Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley was suddenly standing over his chair, then leaning down to drape his long arm around the angel’s neck. Aziraphale’s heartbeat, which had been thrumming in his ears for almost an hour now, quickened. “Oh! That’s really quite lovely. I can’t imagine why we haven’t done this before.”

Crowley chuckled, the sound low in his ear, the rumble a physical sensation against his shoulders. “The combined forces of Heaven and Hell?”

“Right,” Aziraphale said. “Them.”

The weight of him was pleasant, and it was easier to focus on Crowley’s breaths and Crowley’s heartbeat and Crowley’s hands than his own. They stayed that way until the kettle whistled, and even then a small miracle set a cup of tea in front of Aziraphale without either of them needing to move. Aziraphale sipped his tea, and it warmed his chest, filled him up a little. Finally, he said, “I was thinking…”

Crowley’s breath fluttered against his neck. “You were thinking?” 

“This can’t be terribly comfortable for you. A hug might be...better...if we were sitting on the couch,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley’s hands tightened on his shoulders. His voice rose a few octaves. “You want to  _ cuddle _ ?”

Aziraphale flushed. “Well, we certainly don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“You think I don’t  _ want to _ ?” Crowley said, clearly incredulous.

And oh.  _ Oh.  _ Aziraphale wasn’t certain how he hadn’t noticed before. His lips turned up just a bit. The angel stood slowly, only briefly bereft of Crowley’s weight before he faced the demon and pulled him in again, fiercely, in a full-body hug. Crowley choked, then made a pitiful whimpering noise that he would almost certainly deny later on.

Later, when Aziraphale’s heartbeat returned to a steady pace and Crowley regained the power of speech, they would talk about all of this. Particularly the  _ this _ that had been brewing between them for 6,000 years.

For now, however, Aziraphale settled for another squeeze and a murmured, “Shall we go to the couch, then?”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while experiencing a low-level panic attack, and I’m weirdly proud of that? Also, the concept of dissociation becomes super intriguing when the character experiencing it is essentially a spirit.


End file.
